


Gifts

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Fëanor's begetting day he receives two unexpected gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts

It had been the perfect day. Finwë had arranged a magnificent party for his son's begetting day, and even Indis' presence had not put a damper on how Fëanor soaked up his father's attention. He turned towards the table as Nerdanel laughed and whispered with Indis. It was strange how she kept glancing downwards towards Indis' stomach, but he passed it off as one of his wife's quirks. 

Fëanor's attention was quickly captured as his father tapped on a glass and stood up. "I have one last gift to announce for my son. One of the things that I have always wished I had was a sibling. It is my great delight to announce that by the time of my son's next begetting day, he will have a younger sister!" 

Fëanor felt his glass slip from his fingers and hit the ground, breaking into tiny slivers. Kneeling, he began to pick them up, not caring as they sliced though his skin. His actions went unnoticed in the excitement that followed Finwë’s announcement, as it seemed that everyone else who had been at the party was now crowded around his father and Indis. Taking the opportunity that this represented, he slipped from the party, disappearing into the shadowed areas away from the palace.

As he wandered around the city, tempted to slip away into the forests that covered parts of Valinor and avoid his family for a few weeks, his face never lost the expression of shock. Why – how had his father thought that would be a present to him? Perhaps, when he was younger and alone, he had wished that there was somebody to keep him company. But he didn’t need anyone now, he didn’t want anybody that his father had with Indis.

He had no idea where he was going now. His feet moved forward as he stared around, not seeing anything. Suddenly, he felt himself start to fall, his feet hitting water as he slid down a bank into a creek. As he scrambled to find something to pull himself up with, he felt himself grasped from behind and yanked upwards.

Fëanor was dragged away from the creek, before the person let him go, never ceasing their muttering. Wincing, he realized that it was the High-King who had pulled him out of the creek. Ingwë turned to face him and spoke, “I realize that you are quite likely in shock, but would you kindly refrain from killing yourself while I follow along behind you?”

“What? I was not killing myself, and why were you following me?” Fëanor masked his discomfort at being found by Indis’s brother with a haughty tone.

“Really? I find myself doubting that when I watched you wander off a path and fall into a creek without realizing where you were going. What if you had wandered off without somebody else around? Or had wandered into something far more dangerous?” Ingwë glared, before the look on his face softened. “Did you really think that nobody realized how that announcement had to be for you?”

Fëanor turned away, “I neither need nor want your concern. Shouldn’t you be with your sister? Congratulating her on her success at breeding?” To his surprise, Ingwë merely shook his head and laughed before setting down.

“There will be plenty of time to congratulate my sister later. I’m far more concerned about you; it is your begetting day.” It was, to Fëanor, an unfortunate fact that Ingwë was one of the few that didn’t leave him alone when he became upset and haughty.

“So? What is the Prince of the Noldor’s begetting day to the King of the Vanyar? There is no family relationship between the two of us,” Fëanor sneered.

Ingwë frowned at this, “Have you forgotten the begetting days of your childhood so swiftly? It was never about any family relationship between the two of us. Your father is one of my dearest friends, and I am genuinely fond of you, as I thought you knew.”

Fëanor laughed at this, “Do you really think your pretty little words are going to convince me of anything? My own family isn’t that fond of me.”

“Your family is fond of you,” Ingwë stood up again and grasped Fëanor’s shoulders. “Your father didn’t mean to hurt you this morning, he adores you. Neither did my sister or your wife.”

At this, Fëanor turned his head. It had been hard enough to see his father up there, but for his own wife to not realize was unbearable.

Ingwë continued in a slow voice, “Your father…your father, exemplifying the way that he doesn’t understand that you don’t have the same wishes that he does, thought you would be excited to have a sibling. He thinks of you still as the little boy you were, alone-”

Fëanor broke in at this point, “And whose fault was it that I was alone? My own? Or his, for being unable to cope with watching mother-” Now, he cut himself off, trying to escape Ingwë’s hold as he collapsed to the ground.

Ingwë followed him downwards, “And here we come to the heart of the matter. It isn’t fair, Fëanáro, that your father and Indis will probably have multiple children together, while you shall always be somewhat of an outsider. They both think that there will be no troubles with you accepting them as your siblings, or with them accepting you. But we both know differently. They will listen to the gossip surrounding you; you will probably always resent them for having a living mother.”

“Who is your sister.” Fëanor cut in.

In a way, Ingwë believed it would be less worrying if Fëanor would simply break down into tears, instead of this silent staring. “Yes, she is. But that has nothing to do with whether or not you have to like her.”

Fëanor stared at him. “I don’t understand you. You wish me to hate your sister?”

Ingwë stared into the distance, before finally replying. “No. I wish for you to feel whatever you want for my sister. I’ve seen what happens when somebody tries to force another to feel a certain way.” Pulling on Fëanor’s hand, he tugged him back upwards. “That is my second gift to you today, Fëanáro, and I hope you like it better than your father’s. With me, you may always feel free to express exactly what you feel for somebody else. I shall not hold it against you. Now, do you feel like returning to your party?”

As they walked back towards Tirion, neither of them spoke what they both knew. Regardless of Ingwë’s feelings on the matter, they both knew that those feelings would not be allowed to stay without contest. When Ingwë watched Fëanor congratulate his father on the upcoming birth, he felt a pit of dread settle into his stomach, telling him this would not end well.


End file.
